


granadas

by Potoo



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cults, Dead Jellyfish, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, M/M, Religious Content, Religious Guilt, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potoo/pseuds/Potoo
Summary: When Murphy and Connor investigate a strange cult in Costa Rica, what started out as a fun murder vacation goes very wrong very fast.





	granadas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saltstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltstone/gifts).



Connor sat in the shade of a palm tree, a book on his stomach, and bit into his grapefruit while he was watching Murphy. His brother was running along the beach, barefoot, colored an angry red all over. The Costa Rican sun was not kind to his fair skin. Well, both their skins, since they shared one and the same, but Connor was taking precautions by keeping to the shadows, while Murphy apparently had to keep picking at various small animals he found stranded in the sand. “Ever seen a jellyfish this fucking large?” Murphy was yelling right now, grabbed said jellyfish and held it aloft for Connor to see. The jellyfish, in turn, forced him to add a loud curse to his former statement. Poisonous little beast, Connor thought. It _was_ a fucking large jellyfish, he admitted mentally, and lowered his sunglasses appreciatively. Murphy was yelping from pain but did not relinquish his grip on the dead animal, the stubborn bugger. 

“Let go of the fucking thing!”, Connor yelled back, only barely holding back laughter. That seemed to rile Murphy up, as Connor had known it would, and he came barreling towards Connor, throwing the jellyfish at him like a basketball. Connor made to move aside, but it caught him at the leg, and he flinched from the sudden sharp sting. Then, he had no more time to worry about jellyfish poison because Murphy was flinging himself at him, following his missile, and they wrestled for a bit while Murphy accused him of laughing at him and Connor objected that he had quite clearly laughed _with_ him, not _at_ , which, Murphy panted, was fucking bullshit because Murphy had not been laughing, so how could Connor have been laughing _with_ him?! All the while trying to land in some weak punches which Connor only let through his guard because he didn’t want Murphy to get discouraged. 

Their tussle got them closer together, as it always did. Close enough for Connor to smell Murphy. Oh, yes, they were close. Physically close, right now, but even more than that. Their bodies were so similar to each other that sometimes, he knew they seemed like one and the same person. Not only did they have the same fair Gaelic skin which burnt red at the slightest smile of the sun; they also had the same heart beating in their chests, Connor knew. He had always known, but when they had awoken in their cozy little prison cell after having received the Word a year ago, he had truly experienced it for the first time. He had been able to hear Murphy’s heart, thumping his blood through his body, and did not doubt that Murphy could hear his heart as well. And if they had been close ever since their childhood days, then they were even closer now, touching constantly, never able to keep their hands off each other for long and taking the barest excuse to clasp the other’s skin. It was not sexual, Connor told himself for the millionth time. Not at all. It was just – Connor was just – well, what else was one supposed to do when the Lord had seen it fit to split one’s soul into two and place them into different bodies? It was _natural_ , wanting to touch his brother, his twin brother, and he knew Murphy wanted it too, and so it was alright. All of it was alright. 

Murphy let go of him, sitting down on the ground beside him panting. He was sweating, from the physical exertion as much as the sun. Connor regarded him for a moment, eyelashes on red skin, then looked further to the horizon stretching out beyond the beach. It was quite a nice beach. They had seen several nice beaches during their journey here, but this was by far the nicest so far, and probably the nicest beach in all of Costa Rica. They had come to Costa Rica for three reasons: first, to get some sun, which Murphy had been wild for ever since they had left Ma behind in their rainy little village. Second, because they were not entirely welcome in Boston anymore. Da had gone off to Canada, which, he claimed, was a nation comprised entirely of sin; this made sense, and Murphy had wanted to go with him originally, but then Connor had voiced a preference for the south, and Murphy had agreed to this without a second thought. So they had parted ways, only for a while. And then – the third reason why they were here, specifically, in this small Costa Rican town – Murphy had discovered a cult of sinners, the self-titled True Believers, or, seeing as most of them were Costa Rican, _Los Creyentes Verdaderos_. 

While they’d still been in Mexico, Murphy’d heard of them in a small bar where a drunk patron had told him the horrible stories circulating about them. They were no believers at all, the brothers had jugded, and they needed to be punished. It was a Christian sect which, apparently, closely cooperated with local drug smugglers for the sake of the sect’s finances. They participated in cartel murders, ritual killings, and much worse. “Definitely a case for the Saints,” Murphy had grinned at him, and Connor had agreed. They’d researched further as they had come further South. The Creyentes took many of the Holy Book’s psalms seriously. They believed in marital polygamy, a high importance of blood purity, and especially worshipped the Book of Songs. Sexual relations were an act of prayer for them, but weirdly only if the participating people were _not_ married. Descended from the Spanish conquistadores, they professed to be a part of the Catholic church; but Connor thought that claim ridiculous. Their faith had nothing to do with the true faith.

They had followed the trail of the Creyentes to a small village in the south of the country. The beach they were lounging on currently apparently belonged to the grounds of the sect. The people in the village had seemed nice enough, and they had found the church. On its door, there had been a poster announcing a midnight mass that very night. 

They had all their weapons with them. That night, they would find out whether the Creyentes were truly what they professed to be – zealous believers – or whether their souls would end up in Hell instead. Connor said as much out loud, and Murphy grinned at him. 

 

Their plan had been fool-proof, Connor thought. Break into the church, watch the sinners’ sins in full display, execute them with proof of their crimes in front of everyone’s eyes. Trouble had started when Murphy hadn’t been able to successfully lock-pick the church back entrance, and honestly? They should have known this to be a sign of the Lord to leave it be. Return another time. With more weapons. Perhaps a grenade. But they had carried on, and five Creyentes – strong, tall men – had jumped them, wrestled them for their weapons, and won. For a moment, Connor had feared that _they_ would be the ones executed tonight; but then the men had simply taken them prisoner and led them to the main hall of the church, with guns trained on each of their heads. 

The congregation was assembled, most of them seated on wooden benches. Men sat at the front, and women at the back. There were children too, Connor noticed, in the very back of the church. Two women sat on each side of the group. It was a simple church: wooden planks. No windows, he noticed. All the light came from candles spread out around the room. The altar was simple as well, hewn from a rough-looking sandstone. Behind the altar stood an older man in heavy purple robes, with a demurely clothed woman next to him. She wore a woolen brown dress, short-cropped hair, and had her head bowed down so that her face was not visible. The old man in the robes was obviously a priest; apart from the rich purple and golden threads of his robes, there was also a heavy cross draped around his neck. One of the men who had caught them approached the old man. He addressed him in Spanish. 

“High Priest, we have found the foreigners. You may purify them now.” 

The entire congregation was eerily silent, Connor noticed. Not even the children were making a sound. He remembered when they had been children in their church; they had always disturbed the sermon with something or the other, and the other children had done so as well. Babies had cried, teenagers had gossiped, and the children in-between had played pranks and laughed at dumb jokes. But here, all was silent expect for the creaking of wood here and there. “You did well, son,” the High Priest said. The guard bowed his head and stepped back, while the High Priest stepped forward towards them.

A gun pressed itself into Connor’s neck. He was forced to kneel in front of the High Priest, and a second later he saw Murphy right next to him, on his knees as well. The High Priest put his hands on his legs and looked down on them. 

“Two American pigs,” the High Priest sneered. 

“We’re Irish, man!” Connor protested in Spanish. If anyone in this church was surprised that he could speak Spanish, they did not show it. He gazed around the room. The people on the benches were still watching the unfolding scene silently, the guards were surrounding them, and the High Priest was standing in front of them. The woman had raised her head and looked at them curiously. She whispered something to the High Priest. 

“What did you want to do in here, sneaking like thieves?” asked the High Priest. 

“Slaughter all of you like you slaughtered the entire village over the border in Panama,” Murphy shot back without a second’s hesitation. That was unwise, Connor thought, but at the same time, they knew it was true and so it was good. 

The High Priest exchanged a glance with the woman next to him. 

“You are Christians?” he asked and tugged slightly at the rosary around Murphy’s neck. 

“We are,” Connor replied. “Unlike you.” 

The High Priest yanked at the rosary. Murphy yelped; Connor saw the necklace digging into his skin before it ripped. The beads tumbled to the ground, but the High Priest caught the cross in his hand. “Then why do you wear your rosary like common street thugs?” 

He straightened up again. A small appeared on his face. “Perhaps our Catholic friends need to be shown the truth of faith.” The woman next to him stared at him with glowing eyes. He raised his voice to a loud boom, reaching to the furthest corners of the wooden church. “No pure flesh may be tainted by them!” A few of the Creyentes began to whisper at that, and then more. Understanding swept the room, yet Connor did not understand _anything_. Murphy looked up at the High Priest with hatred in his eyes.

“Easy,” Connor murmured. Murphy rolled his eyes.

“Fuck easy,” Murphy murmured in response. “He fucking took my rosary. I’m gonna kill him.” 

“You want to be believers? We will show you how to believe,” the High Priest crooned as he turned their attention back to them. The congregation was still whispering furiously. A cold shiver went down Connors back, and he understood that whatever it was he did not understand, it was _bad_. He looked straight at the High Priest. “ _Let us go early to the vineyards to see if the vines have budded, if their blossoms have opened, and if the pomegranates are in bloom._ ” the High Priest intoned like a melody. 

“Song of Solomon, 7:12,” Murphy answered as if automatically. “Are you high?” 

Connor regarded the High Priest suspiciously. He raised his hands. “May you pray faithfully!” 

“May you pray faithfully,” the entire congregation replied, all in a hushed whisper, their voices joining into one. In the back of the church, the women around the children were shepherding them out through the thick wooden entrance door. The men who were holding Connor and Murphy let go of them and stepped back. The woman next to the High Priest took out a machine gun from beneath the ankle-length dress, while her priest stepped behind her. The other men who had found them – guards, Connor thought – stepped back as well, forming a circle around them. Their guns were still trained on them, but now they had some space. Murphy used it immediately to stand up, but Connor remained on the floor for now. 

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously. 

“You’re gonna fuck,” the woman replied. She was obviously delighted at the prospect. “Not like _us_. Not to be brought closer to the Lord. But to eliminate yourselves from His love.” She snickered. 

“What?” Murphy said, loudly. “You can’t be fucking serious!” 

“He’s my brother!!” Connor cried out.

His grin widened. “Is he, now? How wonderful. Leviticus 18:6, do you remember it? _None of you is to come near anyone who is his close relatives to uncover their nakedness_.” 

“ _Fuck_ you!” Connor yelled at the High Priest. 

“You know, you have a choice,” one of the guards said. He cocked his gun. “We can also kill you both.” 

The High Priest nodded. “Every man always has the opportunity to die for the right thing.” 

“As if you wouldn’t just kill us afterwards, bastards!” Murphy yelled. 

“Of course we won’t kill you afterwards,” the High Priest sniffed in a tone as if Murphy had just offended him deeply. “You need to stay alive to wallow in the knowledge of your sin for the rest of your natural days.” 

“Go to Hell!!” Murphy replied with mounting anger. 

His voice sounded raw, Connor thought, and suddenly, suddenly the reality of the situation fell on him, as if were standing in a cellar and the entire house was collapsing on top of him. They had told Connor to have sex with his brother. With his _brother _. With _Murphy_. __

__It was shocking. Apart from that, it should be disgusting; it should be revolting; it should be appalling._ _

__But, he realized with mounting horror, to Connor, it was none of those things, and that was, perhaps, what made him disgusting in a far more basic sense. He chanced a glance at Murphy, who only seemed very angry in general. He looked at the ground, the same moment as Murphy turned his head to look at him._ _

__A few seconds went by. Another guard cocked his gun. Connor felt frozen. He could not – he could not initiate what they so clearly expected – not now, not now after he had realized that this was, in a sense, what he wanted. Not exactly like this. He could do without the audience. Without an insane High Priest, his guards, and an entire congregation watching them, and he could do without the location. They should be alone for this. They should be by themselves. Somewhere they called home. An old, squeaky mattress. Open windows and a breeze on naked bodies. A drink by the bed. Whispers and laughter. That was how it should be. And, most of all, by choice. He blinked. Murphy, enjoying Connor like that... Murphy sighing, moaning, groaning, for him, because of him, because he wanted this..._ _

__No. It was impossible. It was disgusting. He shouldn’t even _think_ that, let alone talk about it. Or act upon it. Fucking hell. They were brothers. Yes, they were close, physically, and their souls were close, but – not like that. They _shouldn’t_ be. It wasn’t _right_ , and Connor was _wrong_ , and all of this – all of this was so damn wrong. He felt sorry for Murphy, and he felt sorry for himself, and he would rather die than do this to Murphy. _ _

__He could not say a word, and he remained frozen._ _

__One of the guards shot the ground a foot away from Connor. He did not even flinch, but Murphy audibly gasped. Another two quiet seconds passed. Then, through the silence – “Fine,” Murphy said, “Let’s get this over with, then.”_ _

__“What?” Connor yelped, reverting into Gaelic. “You serious?”_ _

__“Wasn’t planning to die today,” Murphy replied in the same language. Connor tried to look him in the face, but his gaze was stuck to the ground stubbornly. His cheeks were red; although Connor could not tell whether this was a flush of embarrassment or just his sunburn. “It’s not a sin either way, not really, yeah? I mean, the Lord knows _why_ we’re doing this. And it’s not because we – well. You know.” _ _

__“Yeah,” Connor replied, dumb-struck. “Yeah. Not because of _that_.” _ _

__“No,” Murphy stressed again. “Not because of that. Uh.” He was still regarding the ground, but then he unbuckled his belt. “So maybe we. Yeah. As I said. Let’s get this over with. As quickly as possible.” He let the belt fall to the ground, followed quickly by the shirt he was wearing. It was not cold in the church – it was summer in Costa Rica, and besides, the candles everywhere did the rest – and Murphy’s upper body seemed to glisten with sweat. The only thing Connor could do was stare at him. Murphy kneeled down and appeared at Connor’s level. Their gazes met._ _

__“Unless you’d like to die instead,” Murphy said, quietly. His eyes were very blue, his pupils very dark, and his tone desperate. Connor shook his head wordlessly; Murphy nodded. “Alright. Let me just-”_ _

__“I’ll go down on you,” Connor blurted out. “Like I did on that bloke in Roxbury.”_ _

__“You – what?! Which bloke?!” Murphy replied, obviously more scandalized by the fact that Connor went down on someone than on the fact Connor had just offered to go down on _him_. “Don’t tell me – fuck, you sucked Jackie Cameron’s dick?! Man. Really?” _ _

__Connor nodded. “It was fun,” he started explaining himself. “Jackie’s a really-”_ _

__Murphy interrupted him. “I know, that jackass was really hot! I just – I was right next door, you could’ve... uh...”_ _

__“I know. Sorry.” Connor knew what he should have done: not having sex while in the same flat as his brother. But at the time, he hadn’t cared. Or maybe he _had_ cared, and he had _liked_ the thought of his brother potentially discovering them. Joining them. And kicking Jackie Cameron out. _ _

__There was a gunshot. They both looked up at the woman next to the High Priest, who had fired two shots into the opposite wall. “Less talking, sinners,” she told them, “more action. Both of you, undress. Now.” Connor nodded tersely and took off his shirt as well. The woman grinned widely, and again whispered something to the High Priest he could not understand. The High Priest nodded at them. They finished undressing; Murphy retained a sock, but no-one complained. Connor kept his gaze trained stubbornly at Murphy’s face, still red, and his very blue eyes._ _

__“Stand up,” he prompted, but Murphy shook his head. “No, I wanna-” Instead of finishing his sentence, he lay back, his legs spread and his forearms leaning on the ground. “Like this.” Connor nodded again. He placed one hand on Murphy’s thigh, and a shiver ran through Murphy’s entire body. He made a small noise Connor could not place. Connor swallowed drily and came forward, until he was settled between Murphy’s legs. His hand on Murphy’s thigh crept higher, to his hip, hipbones covered with flesh and skin and warmth. This wasn’t good, he reminded himself – this wasn’t absolutely necessary – - with that thought, he finally tore his gaze from Murphy’s face down to his crotch._ _

__He was half-hard._ _

__Connor stared for a moment, just took in the sight and tried to overcome his confusion. Did Murphy really... did Murphy want this? Somehow? Surely only in a physical way, but... He looked up again, at Murphy’s face. This time, there was no possible way he could mistake the red color for a sunburn; it was obviously a fierce blush. Murphy didn’t look him in the eyes either, but stared at the ceiling above them. Connor followed his gaze for a moment. It was wooden too, like everything else in this damn church. Everything apart from the fire burning on the tips of the candles; everything apart from the warm skin beneath him. He looked at his brother’s face again. Murphy’s lips moved silently. He was praying, Connor realized, and his eyes were turned upward pleadingly towards Heaven. Connor breathed in slowly, then he joined in the prayer, but with whispered words instead of silently. Murphy turned his gaze from Heaven to look at Connor instead, and his expression remained the same._ _

__“Close your eyes to my sins,” Connor said, quietly._ _

__Murphy breathed in before he finished the verse. “And wipe out all my evil.”_ _

__“Amen,” Connor finished, although the psalm originally continued. “You are not – repulsed by this?”_ _

__Murphy shook his head. “No,” he said, in as quiet a voice as Connor. “I – this isn’t the first time I’ve wanted –“ He seemed to have difficulty speaking, but Connor wanted to hear. _Needed_ to hear. “You like this.” Murphy sighed in shame. “Fucking hell. I’m a wreck. _Sins as red as crimson._ ” _ _

__Connor’s hand curled around Murphy’s hipbone. “ _You shall be white as snow,_ ” he quoted the Book, and his hand wandered towards the heat between Murphy’s legs. Murphy gasped. A wonderful sound. “You’re not a wreck. You’re fucking beautiful.” He placed his lips to Murphy’s jaw and kissed it, quick and dry, and Murphy gasped again. _ _

__Then, Connor lowered his head before his brother. He placed his lips to Murphy’s neck, then his chest, then his stomach; and then began to envelop his dick. From above, the candle’s soft light shone upon him, and he forgot all about the other people in the church the very moment he tasted Murphy, salt and sweat on his skin. It was only Connor and Murphy in the world, and even the constant presence of the Lord seemed muted like this. Murphy made noises that made Connor feel holier than any Mass in his entire life. Greedily, he took in every sound, every little moan, and soon, there was a hand in his hair, urging him on; if Murphy’s desperate confession would not have been enough to tell Connor of the kind of heart in his brother’s chest, then this touch would have done all the talking. He took in more of Murphy. It took too long and yet not long enough when a half-stifled “Please,” escaped Murphy’s mouth._ _

__Connor swallowed and sat up again. Murphy stared at him with glazed-over eyes. It was the most loveliest sight he’d ever seen, he thought in that moment. Connor reached out to place a hand over Murphy’s chest. He felt his heart beating rapidly, coming down from his high, and could not fight a smile spreading over his face._ _

__“You, too,” someone yelled, and a second later, cold metal pushed into Connor’s shoulder. “You have to get off too.” It was the High Priest, and he was pointing at Connor while his woman pushed the barrel of her machine gun into his shoulder. Connor swallowed drily, but Murphy seemed quicker on the uptake than he. He scooted closer, still sitting on the ground, and placed one arm around Connor to hold him. The other he laid on Connor’s thigh, where it rested warm, sending pleasant shivers up his body. Murphy dragged Connor’s head closer until it was cradled against his neck. Again, he could feel Murphy’s pulse hammering away, a strangely comforting sound._ _

__Murphy wrapped his fingers around his dick, and Connor groaned. The pulse beneath his face went quicker. He closed his eyes. “Plan,” he murmured against white-hot skin._ _

__“Yeah?” Murphy said, and his voice was distinctly raspy. All the noises he had made now took its toll on his voice. Connor’s own arms wrapped around Murphy’s body and pressed him closer._ _

__“Take her gun,” Connor still murmured. His voice hitched as Murphy’s fingers slid around him in an especially enticing way. “And – and – shoot the guards. Then... Oh, God, Murph.” He could not suppress a groan. Connor opened his eyes again, looked at Murphy’s face, and then at the candles all around them. “Burn down the entire church.”_ _

__Murphy seemed to consider this. “Yeah,” he replied, still breathless. “Yeah.” They would just need a little bit of luck. Just a little bit. And like this, Murphy pressed against him, Connor felt very lucky indeed. At one point, Murphy’s hand left his back and crawled to the front, between their bodies. He grabbed Connor’s rosary and breathed shallowly against it. In response, Connor held him closer._ _

__When he came, he bit down into Murphy’s shoulder. An angry red mark remained. Both of them breathed, slumped against each other. Connor felt the gun push against his shoulder again. He breathed in, and looked at Murphy. It was a glorious image, and his chest hurt a bit. He did not know what to think, what to _feel_ \- elation, fear, guilt, desire, satisfaction. All of that, and more, and all of it so intense he could almost taste it. He breathed out. He breathed in. _ _

__They looked at each other, holding their gazes. Connor felt his own heartbeat, and he felt Murphy’s._ _

__The High Priest talked. “And now, you have committed one of the gravest sins; you can never hope to be forgiven.”_ _

__They still looked at each other. _Now_ , Connor thought, or maybe Murphy thought that and he had just caught it between them. _ _

__He turned around, quick as a snake, and grabbed the weapon out of the woman’s hand. She shrieked, and he heard bullets fired, but he knew Murphy was still alive without seeing it; he’d know when he died. He shot the woman between the eyes and dodged two bullets coming. They made made short work of the guards. The congregation was still silent, unmoving, and that unnerved Connor. He turned towards the High Priest._ _

__He had received a bullet to the leg and was trying to crawl away. Murphy was standing over him. Connor joined him. They said their prayer and executed another sinner._ _

__This prompted the congregation into action. They began to panic, some burst into tears, others shoved at each other to get out of the door. Connor began to push over one candle after another. The altar remained standing, but it did not take long until the rest of the church was catching fire. The majority of the congregation had fled outside, into the dark night. Connor took the cross of Murphy’s rosary out of the pocket of the High Priest’s corpse._ _

__They ran into the darkness, away from smoke and flames and sins trying to engulf them._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, dear recipient!! I hope you like this gift. It's got 'a holiday somewhere warm' + 'a Saints job gone wrong'; as well as quality tropes such as us against the world relationships, incest that isn't normalised or accepted as OK by other people, switching, fuck or die, brothers or sisters in arms, and humor (or what this author thinks counts as humor). (Plus, a very small instance of the brothers valuing each other more than their father, if you catch it. Which is one great trope, props to you.) I also tried to stay close to the original movie's tone: 50% flippant about everything, 50% over-the-top violent, 50% fully fucking concentrated on the brothers. Wait, that's 150%. Well, the movie gives 150%, so I guess that's appropriate. 
> 
> Had a blast writing it! Also, I kinda feel like I put in too much religion here, but to be fair, these two kinda lend themselves to that... I hope you can work with it. c: And how else could a Saints job include fucking-for-the-mission other than a crazy sex cult, I ask thee, world?! 
> 
> Shoutout to my dear Catholic friend Nxxx for helping me find the best bible quotes, beta-ing this (all remaining mistakes are mine), and also cheering me on while writing this.


End file.
